


Nothing Could Fall

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-04 23:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14030910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Bellamy was always just far enough away from the crown that he didn't really think he'd have to rule Arcadia, but just close enough that it was still a possibility. It wasn't a comfortable position to be in, and he was more than happy to leave one royal court for another as a child. It's less pressure, being away.He never expected enough bad luck to hit his royal cousins that he'd be called on to rule, even just as a regent, but here he is, twenty-one and going home. He's not particularly ready for it.





	Nothing Could Fall

For as long as he can remember, Bellamy has known how many people are between him and the throne, and he's felt very strange about it. He has more of a claim than plenty of others do--his father was a prince, which makes him a prince, and princes are always in line for the throne. But he's a minor prince, and the royal family is fairly large. He doesn’t feel as legitimate as he is, most of the time. 

The first death that moves him up the line of succession is his father's. Bellamy is five, and it's one of his cousins who puts the death in those terms: "Well, maybe you'll be king someday now."

This cousin is on his mother's side, which means he has no claim to the throne at all. Maybe if he did, he wouldn't have said something so stupid, but he Bellamy knows he's jealous of Bellamy's station. Orrin's mother married a wealthy enough butcher, but it's far from the prize that marrying a prince is.

"Thanks," he says, out of lack of any other response, and it's a relief when his mother remarries a few months later, an ambassador who takes them out of the court, out of the entire kingdom. It's easier being a minor prince in another country, and while he can't stop knowing when relatives of his die, when he moves closer to the crown, it feels less pressing when he's so far away. 

He's fourteen when there are only ten people between himself and the throne, and that does shake him. But the last person to pass away was old, someone who wouldn't have been king for long anyway. It only unnerves him because he doesn't like being able to count on only his two hands the number of people separating him from being king. But eight of those people are young and healthy, people who should live long enough to have their own heirs. Soon, the number will be rising again, instead of falling, and he'll be able to breathe easier. The longer he's away from his home country, the harder it is to remember he was ever a part of a royal family. He's treated as a noble in Antioch, but a fairly minor one. It's assumed that he will be the ambassador, when his mother's husband decides he's done with the job, and Bellamy wouldn't mind that. He learns manners and diplomacy, and once he's done with that, he's allowed to go to university, to learn all the other things he wants to, or at least as many of them as he can. 

And that whole time, of course, he knows that he is still a prince of Arcadia, a member of the royal family who will be expected, at some point, to return home and be a part of the court. And he doesn't think he'll mind it, once his royal cousins have married and had a few children. The last thing he wants is to deal with intrigue, with people wanting to get close to him only for the influence he doesn't have on the crown and the power he'll never wield. Once he's safely out of succession, it won't be a problem.

It's a decent enough plan, until he becomes regent.

He's twenty-one when it happens, an avalanche of tragedies so close together he barely has time to comprehend them. It starts small and intimate: the crown prince's wife dies giving birth to his first heir, and the whole country falls into mourning. Bellamy sends his condolences, and he's not surprised to hear that his cousin fell into a great depression after; he remembers their wedding, remembers the pure joy on Ryder's face. He'd said they were marrying for love, not just convenience, and Bellamy had believed him.

The loss of his wife and child doesn't kill him, but he's left in poor condition, uninterested in food and drink, and when the fever comes only a week later, he's one of the first to succumb to it. Bellamy is on his way for the funeral when it happens, and Pike refuses to let him continue once word reaches them.

"One prince dead, and more in the palace taken ill, your highness," he says, pointed. "Heirs may not be so thick on the ground after this, and I cannot let you walk into that danger."

Pike has been Bellamy's tutor and adviser ever since he left the royal court, and while they aren't exactly _friends_ , in the traditional sense, they get along well. He's not surprised that Pike won't let them go back with sickness going around, and he can't even honestly say he disagrees with the decision. 

It still makes him feel antsy, though, itchy in his own skin. It feels wrong to be avoiding the palace to keep himself safe, and even worse to be worrying about the death count as much because of how much closer it will bring him to the throne as because it's a tragedy.

He has another reason to be thankful he's still in Antioch all too soon, too; the news that the fever has mostly passed is followed immediately by the news of a fire in the palace. Suddenly, Bellamy is the only member of the royal family left of legal age to take the throne, with only one other heir besides him at that. At least he’s out of the way, safe from accusations that he planned it.

"Fuck," he says, and crumples the paper before tossing it into his own fire.

"I assume you're the most unlikely king in Arcadian history." 

"Just the most unlikely regent," he says, rubbing his face. "Assuming Princess Madeline survives to adulthood, she'll become queen. But she has to make it that far."

"You don't sound optimistic," Pike observes. "Considering she made it through the fever and the fire already. What's going to kill her now?"

He scowls. "Don't jinx it. She's eleven years old and set to inherit the rule of a country that just lost almost all of its royal family. You know it's going to be dangerous for her."

"If she dies, you get the throne."

"And who gets it after me? Fuck, this is the stuff I never wanted to have to think about. I'm not supposed to be a king, Charles!"

Pike is unruffled. “I never thought you’d be bad at it. You’re smart, people listen to you, and you care about the kingdom. That's not a bad start."

"I don't want to be king, that's a bad start."

"Then it's good news you aren't going to be one, right? All you have to do is keep the throne warm until Princess Madeline is ready to take over."

"In seven years."

"That's when she can take the throne. She'll still need help after that. You're the closest family she has left. Maybe you don't want to be a king, but I know you don't want to leave that girl alone."

It's staggering, when he puts it like that. Bellamy was ten when the princess was born, and he's only met her a handful of times, none in the last few years. He sends her birthday presents because he feels he's supposed to, as an older relative, but he's not even sure what the correct term for their relationship _is_. Bellamy's connection to the throne always felt tenuous; his grandfather was the king's brother, and his father was the king's oldest nephew. The king had two children by his first wife, both of whom had more of a claim to the throne than Bellamy, and they were on their way to having families of their own.

Madeline was the king's only daughter by his second wife, an unexpected child much loved by the whole court, but they’d never thought she would rule. 

And now they're all gone. Pike is right; the last thing Bellamy wants is to leave her like that. She'll be surrounded by much worse people than him, pouring poison into her ears.

"So it's safe to go back?" he finally asks. "The fever's passed?"

"As safe as it's going to be," says Pike, which isn't exactly encouraging, but Bellamy doesn't blame him for that. With so much of the royal family dead, it's not going to be _safe_ for a while. This is the time when countries fall.

All the more reason for him to be in the palace, with guards, where he can keep an eye on Princess Madeline himself. 

"We should send for my sister, too," he says. His mother is dead, and the ambassador is protected by his station and not even Bellamy's blood relative to begin with. But they should probably try to keep Octavia close, assuming she'll let them. "If she's willing to come to the Arcadian court, that would be safer for her."

"I'll send a letter. The ambassador needs to be informed as well. Pack up, and we'll leave as soon as I've found a messenger."

Bellamy hasn't been back to the palace since his sixteenth birthday, when he was formally presented to the court. There were meetings and diplomacy and a ball at the end, and while it wasn't awful, he never felt comfortable, the whole time he was there. It felt as if everyone was always watching him, judging him, wondering what kind of prince he was.

As he rides back to the palace, it's like that again, but amplified tenfold. Whatever he felt last time was nothing compared to this, and he can't even be upset. He's a stranger coming into their kingdom to take over; he'd be wary too, in their place. He wouldn't trust some prince, barely an adult himself, who spent his whole life in a foreign court. He's a mystery, and as far as anyone knows, he'll roll over and let Antioch do what they want.

"This is a bad idea," he hisses at Pike, and Pike just smiles.

"You'll be fine."

The princess isn't at the gate to meet him; instead, there's David Miller, the Captain of the Guard, and a younger man Bellamy thinks is his son, Nathan. He and the younger Miller were friends when he still lived in the palace, and he hopes that's why he’s here. He doesn't remember so many people.

There's also a young woman with light hair and pale skin, whom he recognizes more for those qualities than he does from her face. Most of the residents of the palace are dark-haired, and he remembers only one girl with hair like that.

She's the first to step forward when he dismounts, and that he can't explain.

"Prince Bellamy," she says, dropping into a curtsy.

Bowing, at least, is universal, and he manages a fine one. "Lady Clarke."

When he straightens, he sees her mouth twitch like he passed a test she wasn't expecting him to. "I wasn't sure you'd remember me."

"We danced, didn't we?" he asks. "For my birthday. You stepped on my feet."

"I was thirteen!" she protests, but she catches herself, expression smoothing out again. 

Bellamy bites back on his own smile. "You were, yes. It's good to see you again."

"You as well. I hope you're healthy."

"As far as I know. Is your mother--"

Clarke sobers. Her family is noble, but the reason she lived in the palace, the last time he saw her, was that her mother was the royal physician, and Clarke was apprenticing with her. If there was illness, they both must have had their hands full.

"She's recovering well, thanks to all the gods. Jackson says she should be back on her feet in a week, but if she has her way, it will only be a few days."

"I've heard doctors are the worst patients. You weren't infected?"

She tucks her hair behind her ear. "I gave up on medicine."

"Oh?"

"My mother and I agreed it wasn't the best fit for me. Do you remember Guard Miller?" she adds, as if just remembering they're not here just as old acquaintances catching up. "And his son, Nathan."

"I remember." He shakes their hands, smiling, can't help adding, "Don't tell me he convinced you to join the guard."

"Caught him stealing," says David, with surprising good cheer. "I told him he could go to the guard or go to the pillory."

"If I were you, I'm not sure I'd give a thief a position in the guard," Bellamy says, dry, and Miller snorts.

"That's what I told him. But he still wants me to be your guard, so if that's going to be a problem--"

"Are you going to steal my stuff?"

"Do you have any stuff worth stealing?" He shoots back, and it’s Bellamy’s turn to huff out a laugh.

"Probably not." He turns his attention back to Clarke, waiting off to the side. "Not to be rude, but if you're not a physician, what are you doing here?"

"I'm Madi's guardian, until further notice."

It takes him a second. "Princess Madeline?"

"She prefers Madi."

He nods. "How's she doing?"

To his surprise, she looks him up and down, a hard, careful inspection like she's not sure she trusts him with the answer. "How do you think she's doing?"

"Not well, obviously. I'm not here to make her life worse," he adds. "I just want to make sure she's taken care of until she's ready to take the throne herself."

Clarke watches him for another moment, as if she believes she'll be able to see sincerity in him. He watches her right back, and when she finally nods, he lets himself relax.

"I'll take you to her, then. David, thank you, but I think we're all right."

The guard bows. "My lady. My prince." He's turned his attention to Pike, so he doesn't catch Bellamy's wince, but Clarke and Nate do. "Charles, you must be tired. Let me show you to your rooms."

"Much obliged, thank you."

Clarke leads the way through the palace, and Bellamy waits until they're walking with Nate a few steps behind them before he asks, "So, what would you have done if I failed that test?"

She doesn't look at him. "Who says you didn't?"

"If I was ambitious, I would have come back," he points out. "I was a minor prince with no real chance of becoming king, and I never wanted one, but I could have had more power than I did. I'm not going to try to stage a coup. I'm the regent, and I'll be the regent until the princess reaches majority."

"And then?" 

She makes it sound like a challenge, but Bellamy just snorts. "What are you going to be doing in seven years? It's a long time. If the princess likes me, I might have a place in the court. Maybe I'll just live in her library. I'm not your enemy, or the princess's," he adds, pitching his voice low and earnest. "I swear that."

"I'm still not leaving you alone with her," she says, mild.

"How close are you to getting the throne?"

"Me? It would take a revolution. And no one's going to start one to get me in power. I've been Madi's tutor since she was eight. She's my only concern right now."

His curiosity gets the better of him. "How did that happen?"

"What do you mean?"

"You would have been, what, sixteen? You just decided you didn't want to be a physician and became a tutor instead?"

"I lost my first patient," she admits. "Not that it was entirely my responsibility. But I took it hard, much harder than I should have, if I was going to be a doctor. My mother and I discussed it and agreed a different career might be a better fit. As it happened, the princess needed a new tutor and she liked me." She shrugs. "Up until recently, it wasn't a very important position."

"I know how that feels."

A smile tugs at her mouth. "I guess you would."

"Are you in charge of the rest of the palace too?" he asks, curious. She seems to have a lot of influence, for a tutor.

"Not the whole palace, just the princess. And I convinced Wells and his father that you should meet the princess before anything else. She's scared," she clarifies, at his frown. "And alone. All the people in power right now--except for them, she doesn't know them. If you're really on her side, she needs you there."

"I am. On her side. And yours, from what I can tell."

Clarke's eyebrows go up. "Mine?"

"We both want the princess to survive her childhood and become queen. Sounds like the same side to me."

"Sounds like," she agrees, but her tone isn't quite convinced. "In here."

The princess is sitting with a young woman Bellamy doesn't recognize, most likely a servant, to judge by her dress and demeanor. The princess's attention is on the book she's reading, giving Bellamy a minute to study her while she's not paying attention. Aside from the quality of her clothes, there isn't much to set her apart from any other girl of eleven; her hair is dark and plaited away from her face, her features delicate. 

But when she looks at him, there are bags under her eyes, and her shoulders are more slumped than he'd like. It's been a hard time for her, clearly.

He raises one hand in greeting, too casual by far. "Hi. You probably don't remember me." 

"No," she says, slow. "But you send me books for my birthday."

"I do," he agrees, sitting down on the floor next to her. "Do you like books?" She nods. "Me too. What are you reading now?"

She's subdued as she talks about the story, but it doesn't feel personal. She's a young girl who's lost her whole family, and now she has to contend with being queen as soon as she's old enough.

And he has to contend with being regent in the meantime.

Clarke's the one to interrupt the conversation, her voice soft as she addresses the princess. "Madi, it's almost lunch time. Why don't you and Maya go to the dining room? I need to take Bellamy to see Thelonius."

"Lucky you," says Madi, and Bellamy smiles.

"Yeah, I'm really excited."

"You're going to be king?" she asks.

"Prince Regent. It's a lot less scary."

"Try being queen."

"I don't think I'm interested in that," he says. "I was lucky enough to be born into the right body. But I know what you mean."

"Madi," Clarke says, a little more insistent. "Lunch. We're back to regular lessons this afternoon."

"I'm going," she says. "Nice to see you again, Prince Bellamy."

"Just Bellamy's fine. What should I call you?"

"Madi. I'm _going_ ," she adds, before Clarke can warn her again, and she and the servant do go, leaving Bellamy and Clarke alone in the nursery.

"You're good with children," she observes.

"I have a sister of my own."

"Having a sister doesn't make you good with children, any more than having a child does."

“No, I suppose not. I like children, I try to be good with them. I’m not always.”

She opens and closes her mouth, as if she’s going to say something more, but all that ends up coming out is, “You have a lot to do today. I shouldn’t keep you.”

It is something of a surprise that the top priority was introducing him to the princess, but he thinks he understands. He maybe a prince, on the verge of being a prince regent, but Madi is one of their own. She’s the child whose family has died. He doesn’t know what Clarke would have done if she disapproved of him, but he’s sure she would have found a way to deal with him.

But he does think he met with her limited approval, and there are no immediate indications that he’s wrong about that. Not that he sees her much, in his first week at the palace. In truth, he sees very little of anyone aside from the prime minister and his son, who have been tasked with making him a fit ruler. 

It’s not easy work, although he doesn’t think the fault is with his training. He’s intelligent and capable, but he doesn’t know anyone here, and no one knows him, and that’s an awkward position for a regent. People like to be comfortable with the person who’s going to be ruling them.

“That is kind of your fault,” says Miller. Bellamy's also been seeing a lot of him, but he's Bellamy's personal guard. It doesn't feel the same as his spending time with Minister Jaha and Wells, or as not seeing most of the rest of the court. "If you hadn't fucked off to Antioch, people would know you."

"I'm having a coronation in two days," he points out, mild. "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to talk to me like that."

"Yeah, you're definitely going to have me beheaded."

"I know I was avoiding being here, that's not news. But it's not like I fucked off for no reason. My stepfather is the ambassador. I went with my family. No one ever thought I was going to have to deal with this shit."

"Especially not you."

"I figured I could be the eccentric scholar of the royal family," he admits. "Live in a tower, read books, freak out all the kids my cousins would have."

"That was it? That was your plan?"

"What's wrong with it?" he asks. "It would have been great, if--"

He swallows the words, feeling guilt flood his mouth. For all his growing up in Antioch has made this gulf between himself and the remainder of the court, this might be the biggest problem. He's come back to a kingdom in mourning, and he can mourn with them in only the most abstract ways. It's not his grief, and as long as it's the kingdom's, he'll be an outsider.

Miller shoves his shoulder. "I got it, stop worrying. You just seem more ambitious than that."

"I probably would have tried to contribute," he admits. "But I don't like politics, especially royal politics. I'm not interested in only being valued for my name and family."

"Better than not being valued at all."

"I know. Do you have actual advice for me, or are you just being a dick?"

"Start talking to people."

"I talk to people."

"Start making friends. Not just me. Clarke's probably a good place to start."

He frowns. "Clarke? Really?"

"She likes you."

"She does?"

"You thought she didn't?"

"Honestly? No."

"If she didn't like you, she would have been nicer. She's better at court stuff than I am, and she's close to the princess. Tell her what's happening, see what she says."

"Clarke?" he says again. His brain is still a little stuck. 

Miller rolls his eyes. "She scared you that much?"

At least he's being honest when he shakes his head. "She didn't scare me. But that doesn't mean I thought she wanted to help me out."

"That's why you should ask. If she won't help you, Wells probably will, but Clarke's a good person to have on your side."

"I thought she was already on my side," he grumbles, but he takes the point. Even if he's not as convinced as Miller is that she'll be receptive to his plight, it's worth asking. She probably isn't going to try to actively sabotage him. He _is_ days away from becoming the prince regent; she probably wants to stay on his good side.

And he'd like to stay on hers too.

"I'll see if I can fit talking to her into my very busy schedule."

"Try using some of the time when you hide in your room because you don't want to see anyone."

"That kind of defeats the purpose." He huffs. "Thanks."

Miller pats his shoulder. "Yeah, you need all the help you can get."

He doesn't have time to talk to Clarke before the coronation, and that's not just his putting it off. His every minute is packed, aside from meals, and those he eats with the council and his advisers, not the princess and her private tutor.

There is, however, a coronation ball, and he has every reason to ask Clarke to dance.

She still looks vaguely alarmed at the offer, but she covers it quickly, smooths her expression out into a smile.

"Of course."

"I hope you're a better dancer than you used to be," he teases, and it has the desired effect: she scowls, and he smiles.

"I don't _have_ to dance with you."

"I know. I'd like you to anyway. Honestly, I could use some allies."

"If this is how you treat potential allies, I can see why you don't have any."

She's teasing now too, which makes him breathe easier. Maybe Miller was right; maybe she could be a friend.

"It's going to be a problem soon," he admits.

"It might already be a problem," Clarke says. "No one knows what to make of you."

"Good, I don't know what to make of myself either." He spins her, and she curls back into his arms with fluid grace. Apparently they've both gotten better at dancing. "Really, though. I don't know what to do, and for some reason, Miller thought you might help."

"Oh, it was _Miller_."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demands, sharper than he intended to. He's tired of always feeling like he's one step behind.

"I couldn't decide if it was him or Wells. They both seemed likely. You really are worried," she adds.

"I have seven years of being here to look forward to," he says. "I'd like to start feeling comfortable with it as soon as possible, and I don't know how to yet."

"And Miller suggested me."

"If you're willing."

"Madi likes you." He already knows enough about her to understand that it's not a change of topic; this is an argument in his favor. 

"I like her too. I'd like to get to know her better."

"That's not a bad place to start. Madi's like the whole court's little sister. If she likes you, they'll like you. And it will give you something to talk about."

"My sister's coming in a few days," he says. "That should help too."

She makes a face, dubious. "Should it?"

"Gods willing. She does better with new places than I do."

Clarke nods. "You do need all the help you can get."

"That's what I keep hearing. I've only been here for a week," he can't help adding, a little defensively. "It's not that bad."

"No. But it could be better. We could use better."

That, at least, is undeniable. "I'm hoping for better, yeah. You're going to help me out?"

Clarke smiles. "I'll see what I can do."

In the morning, he goes to breakfast and his morning meetings as normal, but Miller brings him to a different room for lunch. Clarke is there, along with Wells and a few others he recognizes, but can’t place immediately. They’re around his and Clarke’s age, well dressed, and Miller tenses at the sight of them, for some reason.

“Your highness,” says Clarke, standing.

He pulls a face. “Do we have to? I try to relax during meals.”

One of the women at the table snorts, decidedly unladylike. “Wow, you’re right. He is bad at this.”

“Just the formality,” says Clarke, which makes his chest glow. “Bellamy, may I present some of your fellow absent courtiers. This is Raven, Monty, and Luna. Miller can give you their titles later. And you all know Prince Regent Bellamy.”

“I think we met at your introductory ball a few years ago,” says the other woman, Luna.

“Almost certainly,” he says, with a wry smile. “I’m not good at keeping up.”

“I’m sure you’ve met far too many people in the last week.”

“You have no idea. My tutor hasn’t had anything to do for years, and now he’s teaching me names and titles every night.” Miller’s still tense and a little awkward at his side, so he bows and then sits, so everyone else can too. “My guard, Nathan Miller. You eating with us?” 

Gruffness is second-nature for Miller, even if he’s rattled. “Am I supposed to?”

“You have to eat sometime.”

Miller takes the seat on Bellamy’s left, which does help relax him. He doesn’t like eating with people hovering over him, although he’s getting used to it.

“So, you said they’re absent courtiers too?” Bellamy asks Clarke.

“All of the recent upheaval in the court has changed things for more people than just you. Families lost heirs and representatives. So these are the people more like you." She smirks. "The ones who wouldn't be here unless they were forced to be."

"Hey, I would have stayed, it was my parents who thought they shouldn't keep me here," Monty protests. "I refused a marriage," he clarifies, for Bellamy. "And prefer men. Not the best qualities for an heir."

"It depends on what you're looking for," says Clarke, with a shrug. "My mother didn't scramble for another heir when she thought I'd marry a woman."

"If your mother had another heir she could have used, she would have. At least when you were younger."

"When I was younger," Clarke agrees. "We've made our peace now."

"And leaving the court did a world of good for my relationship with my parents," Monty says. "To say nothing of how much worse an heir Karin was than I was. Rest his soul," he adds, quick.

"We understand feeling as if we owe our current position to others' misfortune too," Luna says, with a tired smile that Bellamy returns. 

"So this is where you start," says Clarke.

He frowns. "Are you sure that's a good idea? Spending more time with people who aren't actually very well known in court?"

"And me and Clarke," says Wells. "Court's reshaping itself. There isn't anyone that well known left, so--"

"So this is the two of you, telling me who should be part of the new world order."

Clarke shrugs but doesn't deny it. "You did ask."

"I did. Thanks," he adds. "Now, tell me all your titles so I'll be able to tell my tutor I'm learning something."

They become his regular group for meals, although it branches out from there. There's a seemingly endless stream of people for him to meet, connections for him to make. There are ambassadors and soldiers and diplomats, and all of them want to get to know him, to get close to him.

For someone who preferred having a few close friends rather than a great number of distant ones, it's a difficult adjustment. Octavia's arrival helps some, but only some--as he expected, she's much more at home in court than he is, but all that means is that she's fitting in and he isn't.

"You aren't exactly supposed to fit in," Clarke tells him, amused. Of his new friends, she remains his favorite, the easiest to talk to and most helpful. He's taken to walking in the private gardens at night, and she's taken to walking there at the same time, and it's the most he ever feels like himself.

"No?" he asks. 

"I know you're not the king, but you might as well be. Rulers tend to be alone."

"How do you know so much about it, anyway?" he asks.

"Just watching. I followed my mother when I was still planning to become a physician like her, and she spent a lot of time with the royals. They're close to their family, but even their family--"

He sighs. "Great."

"You don't have to be alone," she says, in her carefully gentle tone. "But you don't have to worry that you're not making friends with everyone. You can't be friends with most of them. You're in a different world."

"I think that ended up being even less comforting than you wanted it to be."

She shoots him a smile. "Who said I wanted to be comforting at all? I'm here to be realistic."

"So I'll spend the next seven years trying to protect the monarchy and never trusting anyone?"

"Do you not trust anyone?"

Her tone is mild, but the question still stops him short. He’s always trusted people, even if it hasn’t always worked out. He trusted his mother, when she was alive. He trusts his sister, but in a different way, with the separation of being older and responsible for her. He trusts Pike, and Miller, and even Wells, if not his father.

And he trusts Clarke. It’s another kind of trust, where he thinks her values are aligned to his, and he can trust her to do what’s right, even if he doesn’t know why she’s doing it.

More than trusting her, he depends on her. She’s the person he’d feel lost without, and he might owe Miller for that.

“No, of course not. But now I’m going to worry about it all the time.”

“You? Worrying all the time?” she teases. “That would be new.”

“Shut up.” He sighs. “Is this your way of telling me I’m doing a good job?”

“I think you’re good on your place in court. There are nobles who are known to have your ear, so anyone trying to influence you knows who to bribe. You have contacts and advisers. I don’t think you’ll fit into court until Madi is the Queen, but you’re not supposed to fit in. Court revolves around you.”

“That’s even less comforting.”

"Really? I think you'd do better with that. It's a role, Bellamy," she continues, when he frowns at her. "You're not being yourself. You're being the king. If you'd spent more time with your family, you'd know that. I see it already with Madi, how different she is when she's in public. You just need to figure out what kind of king you're going to be."

"Prince Regent," he corrects, and she rolls her eyes.

"What kind of regency you want to have, then. Come up with a public persona."

"Can I just be sarcastic and annoyed all the time?"

"You could, but I think you could also be a strong, charismatic leader. And that would probably be better."

"You think?" He leans back, staring up at the sky. "The way I see it, I don't want to be too popular. Madi's already inheriting a mess. I don't want anyone to think they'd be happier keeping me than having her."

"So make her a part of whatever you're doing. Don't be a weak king--prince regent," she corrects, before he can say anything. "Don't sell yourself short to make Madi look better. You won't last as a regent if no one likes you, and she won't last as a princess."

"So I should be a strong ruler and set Madi up to be my successor?"

"That's what you want, isn't it?"

It's a good question. It's been a month now, since he came here, and he feels like he hasn't had time to stop and think about what he wants in a long time. In a way, he's never been able to think about it. He knew he wanted to be free of the burden of the court, of people always watching him and wondering what would become of him, and he _is_ free of it now, in an odd way. Whatever was going to become of him, it has. This is it. 

He's found his new normal, and he has to proceed from here.

"That sounds pretty good." He wets his lips, looks over at her. "The whole court revolves around me, huh?"

"It does."

"So I might as well have fun with it."

Clarke flashes him a grin. "Might as well, yeah."

Bellamy's not actually bad at taking the lead, when he wants to. In fact, he's great at it. He just had trouble wanting to be any kind of leader of Arcadia, especially the kind of leader a prince is supposed to be. He likes to be on the ground, in the thick of things, and he hates diplomacy and court intrigue. He'd much rather have people hate him and be done with it.

Acting, though. Acting he can work with. If being Prince Regent Bellamy is a costume he shrugs on when he needs it, then that's different from being a real king, a real royal.

It does feel like something he should have known earlier, but Clarke wasn't exactly wrong. He spent most of his life trying to avoid being put in this exact situation; it's no surprise he hadn't put much thought into what he'd do if it did. But now that he has, now that he knows enough courtiers and has a clear way to go forward, it really is easy to find his royal character. Even fun, sometimes.

And when he's finished, he can go back to his room and close his eyes and be himself again. Seven years of confident, charismatic, charming Prince Bellamy, and then he can be--

Something new. He'll figure it out.

In the meantime, it's not so bad. He flirts and smirks and brings Madi with him to as many places as he can, putting himself in the comfortable position of older brother and protector. Clarke comes with them, as a bonus, following him and Madi to meetings and on trips, in keeping with her continued role as Madi's surrogate parent.

It's not those trips that make him fall in love with her--he'd been most of the way there already, if he's honest--but it's on one of those that he admits it. They're in Antioch for a royal wedding, the kind of event he can't miss as either a prince or someone who grew up in Antioch. Octavia comes, wanting to see her old friends, and Monty tags along primarily, Bellamy suspects, because he's hoping to charm Miller into his bed.

All of which means he and Clarke end up alone on the night of the wedding, passing a bottle of expensive wine between them on the floor of his suite. It's exactly what he would have chosen, if anyone had asked.

"You know you have to start thinking about this soon," she says.

He frowns. "Thinking about what?"

"Marriage."

He chokes on his mouthful of wine. "Marriage? Why?"

"Because the line of success is weak. At best."

"Madi's the one inheriting, not me."

"And what if something were to happen to her before she was old enough to take the throne? Or you?"

"We have other people who would take the throne, Clarke. Good people."

"You don't want to get married?" she asks, sounding more curious than anything. "Or do you not want to have heirs?"

He takes a long swig of wine. "I don't want to talk about this."

"I told Wells I'd do it, but if you'd rather talk to him--"

"Gods, no." He doesn't want to talk to anyone about it, but he'd take Clarke over Wells. "I don't particularly want to have heirs, no."

"Why not?"

"Because I didn't like growing up in a royal family, and if I have heirs, that's going to be their whole life. And I don't want to get shoved into some political marriage with some princess I've never even met for an alliance that's strong enough on its own. If I'm getting married, it's going to be for more than that."

Clarke is quiet for a long minute, looking at the stem of the wine bottle before she takes a drink. "You could marry someone you wanted to marry. If there is anyone."

_You_ , he thinks, without meaning to, without even really thinking it. It's as if someone else dropped the word into his mind, and it's true, of course, but he doesn't want it in there.

Clarke, luckily, doesn't notice his distress. "There were plenty of women here you seemed to know and like. And men. Heirs are more complicated then, but if you wanted--"

"Clarke."

"What?"

"If you and Wells have someone in mind for me to marry, you can just tell me who it is. You don't have to be so circumspect.”

“Wells probably does have a list,” she admits. “If you want one. I was just curious. There’s starting to be talk.”

“About my romantic prospects?”

“You can’t be surprised.”

“No. Who did you think I knew and liked?”

“Any of the ladies you danced with.”

“So, you, my sister, you, Lady Roma, Lady Echo, you, Princess Gaia, Madi, you—“

He’s not trying to make a point about his feelings for her, just about how few ladies he was actually dancing with, but he’s not sure it comes across as he intended it to.

“I know you’re just waiting for me to step on your feet again so you can gloat.”

“Echo did step on my feet. And Madi.”

“I told Madi to.”

“Thanks for that.”

“Princess Gaia probably couldn’t marry you, she’s heir herself and needs someone who will live here. But I assume you were a popular match before you ascended to the regency.”

“We were,” he admits. “It would have been a good marriage for both of us.”

“But?”

“But I didn’t want to marry her, and she didn't want to marry me.” 

“I wonder where you get that,” Clarke muses.

“What?”

“You’re not like most of the royals I’ve met. And from what I’ve heard, you never were.”

It makes his chest warm. “You’ve been asking about me?”

“Like I said, I don’t understand. You don’t have much sense of loyalty or duty—“

“Wow, don’t sugarcoat it.”

She ignores him. “I would have thought you would have, that’s all. I learned it pretty young, even if my duties were different.”

“When we lived here, everyone was so focused on—“ He waves his hand. “My father died and my cousin told me I was closer to being king. I never felt like I fit in.”

She winces, which he appreciates. “That would be hard. And you didn’t spend much time in the court here, either. You were more of a scholar.”

“I like reading. And I am loyal,” he can't help adding. "Just not to--it's not a _kingdom_ I care about, or a crown. It's my sister, and my mother. You and Madi and Miller and--everyone."

Clarke laughs more than the statement really warrants, pitching forward with it. She’s drunker than he thought.

“What?” he asks, but he can’t get the smile out of his voice.

“You’d be such a good king, if you needed to be. But all you want to do is sit alone in a tower reading with your five favorite people.”

“Not all the time,” he protests. “This is good too. I don’t mind being prince regent,” he can’t help adding. It feels like giving something up, but this is Clarke. She probably already knows. “I could keep doing it. But, yeah, it’s not what I want.”

“And neither is getting married.”

“Not just to get married. Not for heirs.” He clears his throat. “What about you? Do you want to marry?”

“My mother would feel better if I married. But—“ She ducks her head, tucking back the hair that spills over her shoulder. “There was a woman I was thinking of marrying. But she passed away.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t tell you. And it wasn’t very well known.” 

He shifts a little closer. “Was it the illness?”

“No, an accident. About a year before you came back. My mother will probably decide the mourning period has gone on long enough and start asking again soon, but we've all been busy.”

“And what will you tell her?”

“Hoping for a line you can give Wells?” she teases. 

“If you’ve got one.”

“Not a good enough one. I’m not saying you have to get married, but—it’s worth thinking about.”

“And I’m sure I will.”

“You won’t be able to help it.”

“No. It’s the next big thing, right? I finally feel like I’m good at this, so something has to fuck it up.”

Clarke leans her head on his shoulder. “You are good at this. And I think—if you want children, you should have them. Don’t decide against it because of who you are, that’s stupid. You’re the one raising them, you’ll be able to take care of them.”

“Will I?”

“I think so.”

He sighs. “I’ll ask Wells for his list. But I’m not going to let him marry me off for his convenience.”

“It won’t be for convenience.”

“But it will be for benefit,” he says.

“If there’s someone you’re thinking of, just tell me. It’s easier if I can give you specific advice.”

He can’t tell her, of course, but he knows what the answer would be if he did. Marriage to Clarke is worthless, politically speaking. She comes from a long line of not particularly distinguished aristocrats on her mother's side and recently ascended nobility on her father's, and even if he wasn’t a prince regent, she’d be a somewhat questionable choice for a member of the royal family. He was always meant to be used to marry appropriately.

Granted, most of his royal cousins managed to find appropriate matches they were happy in, and he probably could have too, if he hadn’t already fallen in love with Clarke while he wasn’t paying attention.

So he leans his head back against hers and closes her eyes. “Nothing right now. I’ll let you know.”

Wells really must have been bursting to ask about this, because Bellamy only been home for a day when he says, “We need to talk about your marriage.”

“Do we?”

“I know Clarke talked to you.”

“So we already talked about my marriage. Do we really need to do it again?”

“Your highness,” he says, which is Wells’ version of yelling at him. “This is important.”

“You can show me the list, but I don’t want to marry right now.”

“This is one of those times where I don’t care what you want.”

“You can’t force me into it.”

“No, but I will be seating you next to a progression of eligible young nobles at dinner, and you’ll be happier if you know who they are.”

"So, this is happening."

Wells pauses, and Bellamy can actually see him changing his mind about the kind of conversation they're having, and the kind of role he wants each of the to play in it. "I can't make you do anything, and I wouldn't want to. I'm not here to dictate your life. But it hasn't escaped anyone's notice that you're young and powerful and unmarried. You'll have to deal with this one way or another, you might as well be ready. Unless you want to just tell me about your sweetheart."

"I don't have a sweetheart." He rubs his face. "I'm not promising to marry anyone."

"You don't have to. Clarke thought you didn't have gender preferences, but I wanted to make sure. She doesn't care, so she assumes no one else does either."

"No, she's right, I don't care."

"Good, then I can use both the lists I made."

They aren't bad lists, as these things go. Bellamy knows and likes most of the people on them, but there’s also a very clear pattern: no Arcadians, no one of low rank, no one whose family can’t trace their line back to nobility for several generations on both sides.

It’s not a surprise, but it still stings. He has a thousand reasons he can’t just be honest about what he wants.

“I don’t mind talking to any of them,” he says. “But marriage isn’t a priority for me right now.”

“It should be. Until you get married, it's going to be an issue," he adds, and Bellamy suspects this argument came from Clarke, not Wells. "The easiest way to avoid all this is to marry someone. So, if you have a sweetheart--"

"I don't." But he can't help asking, "You'd just let me marry them if I did?"

"Like I said, I can't stop you. You can marry anyone you want. There are people I'd advise against marrying, but it's your decision. You're the regent, I'm just an adviser. If you find your own person to marry, I'll defer to your judgement."

"Good to know," he says, but it actually makes him feel worse. Clarke doesn't want to marry him, so there's no point in mentioning it to her. And even if she did, she probably wouldn't. For the good of the kingdom.

So he doesn't ask her if she'd like to be on his list of potential spouses, and he goes along with it when Wells seats him next to eligible nobles. He's his usual charming self with them, and every time, Wells tells him that if he wants to get married, it's an option, and every time, Bellamy says no.

Miller's the one to say, after two months of this, "You should probably just marry Clarke already."

Bellamy has honestly been waiting for someone to bring it up, so he's not even that wrong-footed. He's been having this conversation with himself in front of his mirror.

"There's no political gain," he says.

“So you’re too afraid to ask.”

He sighs. This is Miller, at least. Miller is blessedly free of court intrigue, and he’s not going to say anything to anyone else.

“I’ll tell you about Clarke if you tell me about Monty,” he offers, and Miller snorts.

“I expect to get wine out of this conversation.”

“That’s standard when it comes to discussing my marriage.”

They grab wine and glasses, because Miller has some sense of decorum, and Bellamy’s the first to speak, once they start.

“She and Wells made a list of people I could marry, and she’s not on it. I don’t see much point in asking her.”

“You don't want want to ask.”

“She’s already told me implicitly that she doesn’t see herself as an option. I don’t need her to tell me all the reasons why not.”

“Come on, she made the list. She can’t just put herself on there.”

Bellamy’s mouth twitches. “No?”

“Like you said, she’s not a good political marriage, we all know that. She already has way more power than anyone ever thought she would. She can’t tell you she wants to marry you.”

Bellamy jerks his head up. “You think she does?”

There’s a long pause as Miller thinks it over; Bellamy can feel the hope in his chest dying by the second.

When he speaks, his voice is careful. “We grew up together. All of us, but me and Clarke—we didn’t have as much status as Wells or Monty. And you remember that. Not feeling sorry for myself, but you remember how it is growing up in court.”

As a foreigner, Bellamy was somewhat outside the hierarchy of the Antioch court, but he does take Miller’s point. He never felt as if he escaped from the Arcadian one; he could always feel it creeping up on him, and now that he's caught at last, he doesn't feel ready for it.

“We knew where our level was,” Miller continues. “You can’t not know. Everyone knows. And you know what’s expected of your marriage. So you find out where someone stands, and you just tell yourself, yeah, that one’s not happening, forget it.”

“Like Monty?”

Miller’s mouth twitches. “I was good at that before he left. Then he came back and I just—fucking forgot for a second, and that was enough. And he’s back to being his family’s heir, so fuck that.”

“I can put you in the aristocracy, right?” Miller snorts, but Bellamy doesn’t let him dismiss it. “You and your father have been loyal servants of the crown for years. It’s not as good as a lineage, but for Monty’s family—“

“You can’t just elevate everyone you like.”

“I could. I’m the regent. If history looks back on my reign as nothing but elevating my friends, I won’t mind. I have good taste.”

“I can’t stop you, but Clarke or Wells might.”

The mention of Clarke sobers him. “I don’t—you know it doesn’t matter to me. I never wanted a political marriage, I don’t care if she doesn’t solidify an alliance or consolidate my power. I just care if she doesn’t want to marry me.”

“If I were her, I’d be trying not to think about it.”

Bellamy closes his eyes, lets the longing open up inside him. Clarke’s been his favorite person at court for almost as long as he’s been here, and he’s been trying not to think about it too, trying not to want her. But he’s the one who _can_ want her. He’s the one who can cause a scandal by marrying below his station without suffering for it.

Clarke’s the one who doesn’t even know.

“So I should at least mention it,” he says.

“You can always give her a better title if you want."

"Fuck, I don't care. I'd marry her tomorrow if she wanted to."

"So if she and Wells think she needs a better title."

"Probably. And she wants to," he adds.

"And she wants to," Miller agrees. "I want to be a duke."

Bellamy snorts. "I'll see what I can do."

What he can do is, as usual, his job, which involves very little down time over the next few days. He knows it's a coincidence, and the entire palace isn't actually conspiring to keep him from having a moment in private with Clarke, but it feels like that. There's a delegation from Azgeda visiting, including Prince Roan and Lady Echo, who are on Wells' list of potential spouses for him, and Princess Ontari, who isn't but feels she should be, and between the three of them, he feels as if he doesn't have any time to himself, let alone with anyone else.

On the third day of Azgeda's visit, he manages to get an hour to visit with Madi during lessons, which at least means he's almost alone with Clarke. But this is Madi's time, not his, so all it really means is that he has a break from being Prince Bellamy.

At least until Madi asks, "Which of the Azgeda are you going to marry?"

His eyes flick to Clarke, but she's not looking at him. "Who says I'm marrying any of them?"

"Everyone knows you're looking for a spouse."

"Wells is looking for a spouse for me." He wets his lips. "Listen, just because you're a princess, it doesn't mean you have to give up your whole life for it."

"Don't worry, Bellamy. I already know who I'm going to marry."

He looks at Clarke again, and this time she meets his eyes with a smile. "Yeah? Since when?"

"Since always. I'm marrying Prince Thom. We've known forever. He's the right age and the right station and we like each other. If we don't love each other, that's fine. We'll still get along."

"This is why I don't want to have children," Bellamy tells Clarke. "You shouldn't have to grow up knowing this."

Madi shrugs, unconcerned. "I don't mind. I don't have to worry about it, and I know we'll be happy. Love isn't everything."

"It's something, though. But this is why you're going to be a better queen than I am a regent. And I'm not planning to marry any of the Azgeda delegation."

"That's good. I didn't want you to marry any of them."

"Did you have a preference? I'm taking votes."

"Someone that makes you happy."

"That's Miller's vote too."

"And mine," Clarke protests. "And Wells."

"Thom makes me happy," says Madi. "It doesn't have to be that complicated. Don't overthink it."

He has to smile. "Thanks for the tip. I guess you are the expert." Despite his best effort, his curiosity gets the best of him. "What about Clarke? Should she get married?"

"As soon as she finds someone who's good enough."

He smiles. "Yeah, that's the hard part."

The Azgeda delegation leaves two days later, and Bellamy breathes a sigh of relief that it is, for the moment, just him and his court. It's strange to feel like that's a good thing, but at least it means he's gotten used to his current position.

And he manages to get to the garden and meet Clarke again that night. It's not _quite_ a relief, but he knows he'll feel better once they're done.

"I thought Prince Roan might actually be a match for you," Clarke admits, and he snorts.

"He's the heir of his own country, it wouldn't have been feasible. And I think he invited Raven to come visit him, so I'm hoping she'll build that bridge for me. They'd be terrifying."

"Wells is going to give up on you soon."

"You're not?"

"Like Madi said, I'd like it if you found someone who made you happy."

It feels as if his heart has lodged in his throat; this is the moment. He still doesn't feel ready, even though he's been waiting for it.

"What if I did?"

She scowls at him. "Then you should have told Wells! I think worrying about the line of succession keeps him up at night. He should be the first to--"

Before she can go, he catches her wrist. "Clarke. I couldn't tell Wells first."

It takes a second, but then she stills, turns to look at him with an expression he doesn't let himself try to read. "Bellamy--"

"You can say no, obviously. But I need an answer from you first, to know if I--"

She throws herself against him with enough force that he staggers, but he manages to catch her, and when she kisses him, he's ready for it--more than ready, honestly--tugging her close and kissing back with all the warmth he's been saving. It's not what he was expecting, but somehow even better, this sudden burst of feelings like she's been struggling as much as he has to hold herself back.

That would be nice.

When she nips his bottom lip, he laughs and pulls away, feeling a ridiculous smile taking over his face.

"We aren't doing this in the garden."

"No?"

"Too risky." He kisses her again anyway. "Isn't it?"

"It might be less risky than being inside. More people might see us."

"If we're getting married, I assume we're allowed to be together. And I assume we're getting married."

She laughs against his neck. "Wells did want to put me on the list. He thought I would be a good last resort."

"Last resort?" he demands, and she laughs.

"If he couldn't talk you into a political marriage, he wanted a failsafe."

"What did you want?"

"For you to not be a prince."

"Yeah, I know how that feels." She laughs, and he tugs her closer. "If Wells was going to suggest it, I assume he's not going to tell me I can't marry you."

"At this point, I think he'll just be happy he doesn't have to worry about it anymore. You're driving him to drink."

"He can join the club." He grins. "So it's a good thing it took me awhile to get my nerve up. Now Wells won't be as upset."

Clarke looks exasperated. " _Your_ nerve?"

"What?"

"You're a prince! You don't have to worry about anyone not marrying you."

"I assume that's not why you're marrying me."

"No, it's not. Your stupid nerves are probably why." She bites her lip, and he can't stop looking at her, now that he knows she doesn't mind. "You really thought I was going to say no, didn't you?"

"Miller talked me around."

"Good for him." She steps out of his arms, but at least takes his hand as she tugs him back toward the palace. "Once we tell Wells he's going to insist on some level of discretion, so--you're right, inside would be much better right now."

He grins. "Lead the way."

As it turns out, Clarke was right about Wells, both for better and worse. Anyone Bellamy wants to marry is acceptable at this point, and he's not particularly surprised it's Clarke, either. Bellamy wouldn't have said he was particularly subtle, but he assumed if he was this obvious, someone would have mentioned it sooner, but apparently no one wanted to be the first one to say it. Or the second, after Miller.

Wells also thinks they need to announce the engagement as soon as possible, and that Bellamy and Clarke will need chaperones when they're together, which isn't Bellamy's favorite thing, but he at least gets to spend more time with her than he did before. Besides, he's also going to marry her. Once that's done, they won't have to worry about chaperones. They'll just be together. 

Once they get through the wedding.

"I'm just a regent," he says, with a groan, dropping his head onto Clarke's shoulder.

"I don't know what you think that means this time." Their engagement means Clarke cares even less about proper behavior than she did before, which is excellent. Neither of them feels any need to stand on ceremony any longer, at least in private.

"It means my wedding doesn't need to be this complicated."

"Even if you were still a minor prince, you'd be having a royal wedding," Clarke says. "Those are unavoidable."

"I could have fled the monarchy."

"You wouldn't have."

"No," he admits. "I wouldn't have."

“And you won’t now. Even if you won’t be regent in a few years, you’re not going anywhere.”

“You don’t have to tell me. I knew that. Between you and Miller and everyone else in court, I knew I was stuck.”

"You're surrounded by friends and people who love you, how awful."

"It's a royal court, that won't last."

"It's our court," says Clarke, with an undertone of fierceness in her voice that makes him smile. "We can make it whatever we want to."

"I knew you were just using me for power."

"If I just wanted power, I'd be trying to marry someone who was excited about being powerful. Not someone who's preemptively annoyed about his own wedding, despite the many political and diplomatic opportunities it's going to give us."

"Really?" he asks. "Is it?"

"That's how weddings work. It's for Madi," she adds, before he can grumble about it. "And any other children we might end up wanting to raise, someday. They're the ones we're doing this for."

He has to smile. "I wasn't going to have heirs."

"You weren't going to be regent or get married either. I'm not saying you _will_ change your mind, obviously. I don't care either way. But I think we shouldn't rule anything out right now. Not when we're just getting started."

She's right, of course. He has a crown he doesn't hate and a wife he loves, a kingdom he's taking care of and will for the rest of his life, a princess he's planning to raise into a great queen. The future might be set for the next few years, but after that, it's nothing but possibility, nothing but good.

"Yeah," he agrees. "We can see where we end up."

He's pretty sure it's going to be somewhere great.

**Author's Note:**

> last month I unintentionally tricked some number of you into thinking I was going to propose to my ~~girlfriend~~ fiancee in a fic, so I would just like to let everyone know that [that's not how I did it](https://twitter.com/Chashlet/status/975151580055031809)


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